


The Green of Life

by SepiaWhiskey



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brief Smut, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Girls with Guns, Green Eyes, Male!Poison Ivy, Penn Isley - Freeform, Poison Ivy - Freeform, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, So Brief It Barely Counts, Stolen Moments, Strangers to Lovers, fem!reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-09 08:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepiaWhiskey/pseuds/SepiaWhiskey
Summary: Reader meets Penn Isley admist her mission and without even meaning to, becomes indebted.( Male!Poison Ivy / Fem!Reader )Request at my Tumblr: [ Sepia-Whiskey ]





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Based directly off of this photo:
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/08/25/22/082522ef79c623f15ca5d15b9ed1475d.jpg
> 
> I never found the artist so if you know them, please let me know.

You didn't have some bullshit backstory.   
  


Your parents weren't dying. You didn't have a family to keep above water. None of your nonexistent children were constantly ailing at home and you yourself were not strapped for cash by any form. Odd jobs for Gotham's infamous kept you in the better part of this crime filled abyss.  Well, that might be overdoing it. You lived on the very line that separated the rich from the rest. At a time, marrying into the Kane family had been an option no more than a decade ago but you decided that you wouldn't spend your days walking on eggshells, the knowledge of a wealth that would never completely be yours always one change of heart away from being swiped.   
  


Your father had made that mistake and wore his mistake as a lesson to his only daughter.   
  


You handled simplistic jobs, never legal though. You'd seen enough mafia centered movies to keep back from Falcone or anyone within his social vicinity. Theft, destruction of property, a mild beating here and there -  the whole petty game the big dogs didn't want to be caught touching but needed handled. Luckily, it seemed your services had not reached the ear of a certain green haired lunatic or the sewer dwelling reptile. Two people who made your skin crawl, too much so that you knew well you would never be able to meet their eyes as an equal or impassive party. Nonetheless, most days were easy enough. Hiring help was rare but some days it was a bit much for one person. The cloak of darkness that came with night was a significant advantage and while you weren't some acrobat flipping through the streets, you could climb with a quickness and jump a fence easy when the situation demanded an immediate escape.    
  


Your reputation was a rather conflicting one, as  it existed, yet in the same breath you were a nobody walking along the streets. You had to know some shady people to even be slightly aware of your existence. With your success rate came the adaption of a $500 hazard pay with your immediate pay of $4000 - the other complementary half collected through electronic means after all ties to your employer and yourself were burned and dusted. Without a full understanding of  _ everything _ father had put simply just the other day that you could scrub your hands to the pink, but they were sullied with a permanent stain of all you had done.   
  


Yet despite this truth, you had never killed.   
  


Your fingers were sticky and your fists could be fast, but you had never indulged the complete corruption of conscience. To look into the eyes of another individual who had survived their own struggles and mentally straining blocks of life, the very breath and heart of this fully developed being rendered a limp shell in a random alley by someone his family would never find and confront.   
  


You could feel their frustration in your chest just thinking about it.   
  


This uncompromising , sole, single moral of yours left forced your hand and you made the better decision to keep the dealings of life and death to whatever higher being or all encompassing force projected us all forward to it. Word spread fast and while there were a few, lesser critics who claimed you to be a common thug, you could sit easy with several numbers that Gotham's 'finest' - a word used loosely given the crime stats released not too long ago, would love to get their hands on who trusted you like family and paid you like the asset you were.   
  
  


But  on this night, a rainy November night, things got a little...different.   
  


You were iffy about working for faceless employers or ones working under an obvious alias, and given such a fact, a cohesive trio of three had piqued your cautious side, wishing only for the destruction of curling ivy and an all-in-all isolated forest within the abandoned viscera of an old warehouse. It screamed 'shitty police ambush' and yet after committing to your usual tests of staking out for the day,  peeking around corners, and even approaching openly without anything at hand (because in court, it could easily cancel out the argument of intent), your suspicion faltered at the strange yet perfectly legit gig.    
  


It was an exact 33 minutes past 9:09PM before you eventually pulled your ass out of your ash gray Honda Civic sedan that rolled to a quiet halt, a minimal packing of a crow bar, 2 fully equipped 9mms , black bandana, and pack of cigarettes barely weighing down your load as you tossed the sports travel bag over your shoulder, moving quietly through the puddles that spotted through the parking lot that you hummed softly in, covering your mouth and nose by the black fabric of the bandana. Tonight would be good - subsequent to your current task at hand, obviously. Steaming Chinese food at home, (dog/cat) waiting on the couch with plenty of shows ready for your binging delight. You smile for the first time all night, the taste of fallen rain dripping into your tongue. The taste conflicts you. You ignore it and lick the drops away, glancing one more time for accuracy sake at your instructions...

  
_ Just fuck up every damn plant and vine until you can't even recognize what you had walked in on, prior. _

 

Pretty self explanatory. Overly so, honestly.    
  


You didn't exactly plan on tearing up some mossy shit on a Friday night, but money was the only green you cared about, not this mess. You debated arson. Maybe...   
  


"Haven't even seen the complete inside, dumbass." You mumble to yourself, your silence prolonged so much this night that your voice sounded foreign. There could be some homeless in there and, by your luck, possibly a gas leak. You'd need to check it out first. You made small sounds until you recognized your voice again ( looking admittedly crazy ) and pushed the door open, a cringed, creaking sound piercing your ears as you moved forward, checking your back before entering. 

 

You find yourself within a hallways, decked out with vines that all seemed to direct themselves to the main room. You cock an eyebrow and in the darkness where your phone's light did very little, you graze your finger tips along the vines, following them as a guide. 

Your feet seem like the worst sound, completely lone in the silence. You clear your throat, making popping sounds, click your tongue, offering the pat of your shoes accompaniment. It isn't until you reach the next door, fingers only slightly pushing it from it's busted hinges that your hear a soft humming. 

 

You tense, convinced through and through that you have been set up. Shit, only a matter of time. You pivot on a heel, cursing yourself for this usual act of nativity on your part and burst into a full run, hand clutching the bag close to cease banging against your side. You had bailed on projects before - granted the rarity of the situation, it seemed if you'd stayed another minute, there wouldn't be a next tim-

Your efforts to escape live no longer than a few seconds in your panicked exit attempt before a rather scratchy vine coils tightly around your ankle, pulling you off your foot.    
  


Fear and adrenaline consume you, and with fear - comes an uproar of curses and bashful profanity.   
  


"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the -shit! What the holy fuck?! Augh! Son of a fucking bitch!"    
  


Your hands curl around the nearest vine as you desperately cling, the daunting sight of the distancing exit making you suck. Another vine adds in the sudden chaos and the bag around you is pulled from over your head. You extend a hand to grab it with a double dose of failure. You do not reach it in time and this vine seems aware as it tugs the moment you do not have your secure hold, your hand clutching a vine that rips apart from the wall, leaving a missing chunk as you kick at the sudden pull.   
  


There is never compliance, but your fight certainly does weaken in exhaustion. It is only moments, but you find yourself in the base of this building, amazed to the entirety...the mass of plant life that consumes it floor to ceiling It is not by the base plant that weaves its many vines and stems throughout or the thickness of the higher ones above. It is somewhat in regards to the seemingly self aware plants pulling you around, but even then, there is something more.    
  


Your attention is put before to the green figure below who sits with a tranquility that screams expectancy - at least, in regards to your arrival. You feel stupid and wish he would kill you already, but even from 20 ft. off the ground, there is a faint expression and it looks more disappointed or concerned, but not angry or homicidal.   
  


"That's an awfully high place to leave our guest..." You take notice to the cup of liquid be sets to his lips, stopping short, and you swear your see a smirk later confirmed by the time of his voice as he softly yet firmly demands, "Bring her down here."   
  


Your transition is a tough one and your curse as the vine collapses, your entire being soon to be a victim of gravity, but a green hued hand flits up in a sign to stop and the vine becomes stiff, the tip of your a foot from the ground. You finally exhale and from your upside down experience, you are now able to view your captor. An easy 5'11 green tanned male with luxurious hair hued a red orange that humorously reminds you of grapefruit. This short but beautifully molded pile of locks is  buzzed to side, finalizing his facial delights with piercing green orbs that regard you with an almost sensual curiosity. It makes you uncomfortable yet at the most ( inappropriately ) strangest way, somewhat whet.   
  


His lips upturned into what you had predicted as a smile, but a change in sight in fact meshes lips into a reviled scowl.    
  


Oh, ok. He was gonna kill you now. Good to know.   
  


You look at him and it isn't long before you realize that he is staring at the vine you had latched onto and apparently hadn't released. He doesn't rise from his seat. Nor does he set aside gotta beverage with crossed legs of a body you realize to be nearly nude, sketched with areas of green life and covered lazily with a blood red robe. You want to be astonished. Really, you do. But you live in Gotham for Christ sake. Everyday gave strange another day to outdo itself , tonight proof that it never failed.   
  


You pry your nails that were deeply embedded, releasing the dead piece of plant life, looking up with your sincerest look of regret that you can feel is beginning to come quite real - though it stems more from fear than actual sincerity. Though at the moment, you’d settle for selling the latter. Through your thoughts you take notice of the strange silence and eventually will your lips to take shape, "My bad about the plants, man. Honestly.”   


  
" _ Your bad _ ?" He repeats, a disgust dripping from his lips at the evident lack of genuine concern. You grind your teeth in a bowel voiding fear ( though luckily you do not oblige to the feeling ) and look to him as he kneels down. 

 

"I'm no genius,” you breathe, “but I'll take a wild guess and assume you're pissed."   


  
"Sweetheart," he hisses with a coinciding purr, "We're far beyond pissed. "   


  
_ Shit. _


	2. Chapter 2

Your position as a dangling victim of plant life hadn't lasted much longer, post - obvious threat. Your captor had so  _ sweetly _ offered you his cushioned throne amidst the , now, more lively vegetation that offered him a small bump on a vine to seat himself directly across from you. Your slightly damp body coiled around and retained by a floral strain, a lesser grip over your breasts as you glance downward at your hands before shifting them up carefully at your captor. He watches you, emerald orbed gaze steady on you. With elegance, he sets his drink to the side and tents his fingers, head stiffly curving before he reminds sharply, "I'm waiting for an appropriate apology, miss...?" He cocks an eyebrow in a thin interest.

  
  
" (Name ) ." You huff, your thoughts a bit clouded. You can't see your watch so you look to the sky as though you can in any way interpret the time before you look down in your lap with an exhausted groan, "But you can call me dumbass."

  
  
He is amused by your self disdain. A visible sentiment as he permits his lips to lessen from their irritated state to an amused simper, as though he were pleased with the affect he has on you. He wriggles a finger at you in amusement and chuckles a throaty sound that makes the hairs on your nape erect, "You're a humorous little encroacher. You're making that very clear. A vulgar and destructive one but a humorous one all the same."

  
  
"Thanks?" You question, eyebrows raising in mild confusion before you sigh, "Listen, um..?"

  
  
"Penn," he states in that same purr / hiss that makes his introduction sound like a threat.

  
  
"Penn, right. Mr. Penn. Well, I'm no...plant scientist or whatever..."

  
  
"Botanist?" He drawls with question.

  
  
"Sure, maybe, who knows? Regardless, I truly feel like me breaking one vine out of all this...vegetation won't make much of a difference in regards to effecting this whole ecosystem you've got going on here." You gesture with your gaze around the room, a bit overwhelmed by the surroundings.   


  
He lets his eyebrow raise again in interest, "And if I snapped your neck right now, it wouldn't make any difference in regards to that whole...city you've got out there. If that is the point you're trying to make.”

  
  
He - ugh. Touche.

  
  
You scoffed but have a single nod, "Alright, alright- fair enough. But there's a difference between destroying a bunch of plants and ending a life, and I pride myself on not being a murderer in opposition to snipping a few vines loose.”

  
  
"Oh, but you are!" He revels at your ignorance, a full grin consuming him as he stands, tying the robe around him with delight, "You are a full fledged murderer! You embody the very word! My dear, you killed today - an innocent plant. A plant that had taken it's time to grow and flesh the walls of my abode. I heard it's screams. Heard it recoil from your digging nails and that is when I realized I was in the presence of murderer.”   


  
You are able to catch yourself from rolling your eyes and softly try to flex your wrists to no credible avail, "Listen, I wanna sympathize, but they're plants. People feel. Plants don't.”   


  
His eyes narrow and you notice the release of a coiled fist below his waist before he gives a lazy point towards you, "I'll ignore the obvious lack of knowledge on your part and offer this - do these  _ seem _ like regular plants to you? The stagnant adorns that sit outside the windows of apartments? Or are these a superior quality of those? I've offered life's most natural beauty the ability to fight back and the first thing they offer me is a young lady far too pretty to be waltzing around abandoned buildings for a little cash."   


  
He knows who you are. Damn. Maybe you aren't as low profile as you thought. Or does he? Hell, it's an easy assumption to make that you were here strictly under a financial basis. You stir a bit in your animated binds, "Well, you have your obvious hobbies and I have mine. Sorry they aren't similar."   


  
He smirks a wicked look and walks up to you in a slow saunter, crouching to your level as his face hovers a few inches from your own, radiating an ironically natural beauty that you had not honestly taken into account until this moment. His face is almost sculpted to taint morals, lips incessantly complacent yet a tempting divide when parted. Work gave your social life in general a comfortable position on the back burner. You sated your sexual appetite here and there with trivial nights of passion. But none had piqued your interest beyond a one night stand which didn't last very long.    


  
Granted, you had never been in any rush to go looking romantically down the stranger side of Gotham for the visually alternative people such as Penn here, but given he only differed in his green hued skin, you didn't feel too strange thinking about him in the rather dirty way you were.  You should've been focused on his eyes ; you couldn't stop looking at his surprisingly well built body. You should have been worried ; you were intensely aroused. You should've wanted to back up ; you wanted your body pulled forward. 

  
  
He curls his fingers inward, brushing the underside of your chin, "I thought you might find it interesting that anyone else would have already been dead with the mouth you have. I'm not terribly...mm,  _ patient _ with people, per say? So you'll apologize to me alternatively and we'll discuss your work with me."

  
  
You blink, reality setting in, "Work?"

 

His shoulders bob in a subtle shrug, arms crossed over torso, “Albeit temporary, certain vigilantes have forced me to call this former functioning factory home. I've been here long enough that I'm comfortable settling for a little while longer.” The man steps away and gestures around, “My children take up most of the space but can easily shift for space. I'd like to renovate a bit - and you'll help with that.”

 

“Look, I don't owe you anything except an apology and maybe a drink. Other than tha-”

 

“Are you familiar with Nightshade? Contact with the leaves…” his fingers curl, grazing his palm. You shudder at the sight of shifting vinery, an isolated plant within a small pot being offered to him. He takes a leaf delicately, bringing it close to the standing hairs of your arm, “can make for quite the itch. Though you'd be hard set to recover from the aching paralysis that comes through consuming the berries.” He lets the threat between the lines marinate and you offer a quite scowl, “Long story short, I don't have a choice."

 

T here again is that simper. He gives a satisfied nod and stands, "You've done me wrong. Regardless of how insignificant you may find it, each one is a child to me. Thus? You'll work it back until I'm satisfied. And I find I'm a bit of an  _ insatiable _ individual." His breath brushes against your ear as he smirks in response to your slight shudder, standing upright, adjusting the tie of his robe a final tone,

 

"I'll triple your pay. Be here by tomorrow at six."


	3. Chapter Three

In your youth, given your father’s marriage into a wealthy family, finding work had been no pressure on you by him. However, like most teenagers, you had craved some form of independence and bringing in your own money seemed to scream such a goal. With persistence, you managed to find a job bussing at some place called The Elephant Bar.  Between tips and your initial paycheck that blessed you with the maximum of the minimum wage,  you were buying your own clothes and personal desires, your friends unfamiliar with this in school - at least when you weren’t ditching bi-daily. Regardless, you had had a pretty good idea of what you’d been getting into when you had done so. A basic job that primarily consisted of cleaning and smiling politely on occasion to unserved customers. 

This had been  _ nothing _ like that. 

 

Predicted by your new employer, you had assumed this would be some extreme version of flowering plants with the city's entire water supply or some random shit to the like when, if anything, you had been handling jobs almost entirely identical to what you had been doing prior for triple the money. Over time, more furniture and domestic articles came in and the warehouse became a functioning, nocturnal home of sorts. Where a green hued man who never seemed to leave his greenhouse type domain found money to pay you the money he did was beyond you, but you restricted questions to a bi-daily session of working one into a quick conversation. To you, you did a fairly good job working them in. Nearly as well as the way your father would question you in high school about boys - no joke, he was just really good at getting you to almost admit stuff like that. However, in your situation with Penn, it seemed like he noticed given each time you asked anything, he presented a moderately honest smile as though he knew your “plan” and was amused with the fact that you thought he was still unaware.

 

There was another thing.  _ That damn smile.  _

 

Granted it was a rare sight but a savored one nonetheless. A glimmering set of teeth aligned in the archetype of what a smile was meant to be. It made you feel poetic and shit. Day one had been a nonstop barrage of amusement - smug, but nonetheless amusement. He liked your “mortal qualities” - making reference to your vulgar tongue, many expressions, your occasional lateness, and visible but quaint like flaws. You questioned why he worded it like that and asked if he was by any chance immortal. His response seemed an insult hidden within a fairly good point: “If I was, wouldn’t I commit these jobs myself with no fear of the danger they hold rather than send some flower I found lurking around my place to deal with it?” 

 

You decided to perceive it as a full fledged compliment rather than confront someone who could control plants with such a small deal of effort.

 

However charming he could be at times, his demeanor was an easily mutable one. By your third week, you had entered with him tossing about unseen boxes, his teeth downturned into a vicious scowl that he aimed towards you in light of your presence and made clear he wanted to be alone without words. You dropped off your latest steal of your assignment and gave a soft nod, backing out. You didn’t return that night but came the next day to a far more calm Penn who gave a soft smile to you, yet you saw the corners of those lips: ashake. You weren’t nearly close enough to go diving into his psyche so gave a somewhat polite smile back and asked what was up for the day. The key was space. Just give him reasonable space when rage was evident. He was around all he seemed to talk about and care for, so you questioned what could possibly enrage him like that at any point in time. He rarely left and when he did, it was in the dead of night to places he never spoke to you about beyond “somewhere” or “an associate’s house.” 

 

When he had said that to you, you had frowned in realization of how unresponsive Gotham had been to your sudden disappearance. Your father was demented somewhere in Brooklyn and your mother had always been a mystery better left unsolved. You never pursued relationships beyond acquaintances for the reason of your job alone. No one had missed you, and that pissed you off more than it should have hurt you. Just made you realize how much time you spent working so late at the cost of bearers to your funeral later in life. You thought about that more after the initial realization and it seemed to catch the eye of Penn on a different job. He came with you on a windy midnight by the docks, properly dressed in an Italian cut suit beneath his heavily long coat, hands consumed in leather gloves as his feet beating down against the gravel in black men's Oxfords. His hair still in its perfect look.

 

He looked incredibly dapper to sum up quick. 

 

He did, however, leave you feeling quite rugged looking but even after expressing this, he explained that he preferred it that way. Gotham hardly seemed the best place to go without some form of protection and your natural instincts led you to pack your 9mm securely hidden in your waistband.

 

“A flaccid rose makes for a sad sight.”

 

“You’ve lost me.”

 

He smiles small at your comment and looks at you, “I thought it was a more poetic form of asking about your well being? Obviously not.” Your conversations are no longer a halting exchange between an employer and his indentured servant. They are almost fluid, like an exchange between two friends who have hardly ever separated since youth. Your sense of worth is not so questionable under his gaze. It's a strange look, an irrefutably caring expression mildly tainted by unremitting lust. He has never made any honest advance on you that you could for sure call a pass. His fingers somehow always find their way in your hair and he has a way of kissing your hand when especially fond of your work. But his lips never linger and neither do his fingers. They are playful, but respectful.

 

But that gaze. 

 

You realize you have not spoken and look up at him, scratching your nape, “Augh. My bed is shit. Haven't really gotten much sleep to be perfectly honest.”

 

“You're not a very good liar…” he drawls, rolling his emeralds for eyes, “You've got the tone perfect. It's your logic that falters.”

 

“The hell are you talking about?”

 

“Exhaustion expresses itself through expressions of...well, exhaustion or weariness. Not a sullen expression so low with pleasure that it had quite nearly saddened me as well.”

 

“I thought you only got mad or smug.” 

 

You tense a bit. This is the first time you've expressed awareness of his rage fits. Whatever you thought he might have said or, worse, done is wiped from your list of possibilities as you hear a laugh heavy with amusement. He looks at you and for only a moment, that lust is replaced by a boyish joy. 

 

“Very observant, flower. Very observant.”

 

“I guess…” you flush at his compliment.

 

The Gotham docks are within sight and you are instructed to lag behind, keeping quiet while he speaks. He specifies the necessity your silence is three more time and when you ask why, he again insults you while also pointing out a clear point: “Your bawdy tongue is only so charming to some, flower.”

 

You keep quiet. 

 

Three figures emerge from nowhere. One embodies a bald, constipated James Spader with a face that looks it might hurl chunks at any moment. At, at least, 5’7, he is towered by the two obvious brothers on either side of him. They come to the height of Penn and you and the smaller man share a bond below 5’11. 

 

When the man to the left speaks, you find out they are Russian and also, haha, very prejudiced.

 

“Who is the сука?” He demands pointedly. 

 

You point at him behind Penn, already sneering, “Look, cosaak. I don't know what the fuck that means but…”

 

Penn shoots you a look of intensity and you are almost physically compelled to shut your mouth. The man looks at you with a smirk, a rumbling chuckle shifting through his lips. His brother joins him. Penn looks traumatized.

 

“She is vulgar. But knows when to shut her mouth. A woman with a trait like that may stay.” You think Penn will faint at the alteration in proceedings as he queries wearily, “What we came for?” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he looks over his shoulder at you briefly before looking back at the unmoved men. Penn gives an irritated look but masks it with that smirk, “Thought you spoke two languages?”

 

“I see no money in either of your hands.”

 

“Well,” Penn chuckles dryly, “Would you walk around Gotham with a suitcase or bag of cash? It's within the vicinity. All ready to go with you once you hand it over. Now, would you mind..?” 

 

From the moment Penn stops speaking, an uneasiness comes over the two men. The man in the middle moves to retrieve this unknown item from a backpack you're now realizing is on his back. A large hands clamps over his shoulder to stop him and the brother speaking gave a vicious look to Penn, “I'm supposed to believe that shit?”

 

“Haven't lied to you yet.”

 

The brothers exchanged looks and the silent one was discreet with the movement of hand to waist. Eventually, he spoke, “It seems ‘yet’ is the word of the day.”

 

The moment his jacket shifted, a gun was accidentally exposed and time took it's sweet fucking time.

 

You yanked the cold metal against your thigh out of its place, finger gliding the safety off mid thrust before your gun was pointed directly into the one to the silent one on the left's chest. You were unaware of the gun Penn held himself even as you stepped forward, eyes daring another move that they didn't take.

 

“I want you to make a fucking move. I want that. I truly do.” 

 

They're silent, unmoved. They're smart. You point at your target and make a beckoning motion with your free hand, “Your gun. Now. Right the FUCK now.” He isn't hesitant and glides it to your hands where you rest it securely where your own firearm rested, “I don't know what the fuck Penn wanted but in case it wasn't obvious? You're handing it over or you'll join the little Blue Faced Gang at the bottom of this fucking river. Move it over here slowly, dunce. Slowly.” 

 

He takes no chances and hands you the entire bag. This makes you laugh and you openly share this by writing such feelings, “Smartest one out of all if you, I swear he is.” You smirk at the brother closet to Penn, the one who had been talking all fucking night, resting the muzzle to his forehead and smirk, “Who's the  _ сука _ now, bitch?” Your gun whips across his face and he's down. You handle the other two with ease, their bodies limp on the ground. The smaller man is given a simple strike to the head while the man beat until he falls  unconscious at your feet. You pant. You're calmer now.

 

In this exchange, your eyes only catch Penn’s eyes when you hand him the bag. Staring back at you was hardly bridled lust and something animalistic. You look up at him, “What's you pro-?”

 

This is the first time you've kissed. His lips catch yours in a fervent kiss, his tongue slipping and dominating your mouth. He feels the shock weaken your reflexes and hands hold on if your waist until you're up against him. You're slow, but the fact that you catch on at all is the miracle. Your fingers ruffle over his hair and you pull his mouth harder onto yours, a soft whimper amidst his aggressive grunts. When you separate, you are still pulled against him and the both of you panting, riled up. 

 

“I…” he breathes, looking at you intensely, “will need one more thing from you before you leave for...for the night…”

 

//  ///  //  ///  //  ///  //  /// //

 

You never disconnect. He keeps you on him when he drives. A dangerous practice but worth every hickey left on your neck. He keeps you on his waist, holding you firmly against him before swiping his hand along the contents of the nearest table, your back nearly slammed as he looms his body over you, his eyes intense as you shed your coat loose and he does the same, aggressively pulling close, his mouth closing over yours as there is a soft tug of your bottom lip. 

 

“Penn…” you breathe against his lips, his fingers prying at your bra, shifting your shirt up, unresponsive to your moan as you feel his fingers graze over your right nipple, grazing until each one presses against the fabric of your undershirt. He shudders at the sight and runs his hand up to the base of your throat, a light clench following.

 

You gasp and look up at him, his lips nearly brushing yours as he proud pries your pants down, whispering seductively, “You're all mine tonight. All fucking mine.”

 

This is the first time he curses in front of you, but certainly does not make for the last time he deflowers you.

  
  


The morning after is a tiring one. You wake up in a way you're unfamiliar with. Naked and satisfied. Penn lays to your side, the blanket lazily draped over his figure as his broad shoulders rise and fall with each breath. You sit up, look around, and smirk.

 

“Penn…”

 

“Hm?” You knew he was awake.

 

“What was it you were trying to get last night?”

 

There is amusement in his tone, “Certainly not laid. But the Lord works in beautiful, mysterious ways.”

 

He hardly seemed the religious type since last night. 

 

“You know what I mean. The package. The very thing I put a gun up for. I'd think I'm entitled to know what I pretty much risked my life for.” He doesn't turn towards you, but he does shift under the sheets, the faint, leafy cover in place of hair running up his back. You brushed it and he was visibly startled by the affection graze. Admittedly, You weren't the type, but Penn was of a different nature.

 

Christ, no pun intended.

 

“If you knew, you'd regret doing what you did.” His voice almost seems small…unsure. It makes you uncomfortable. You wrap your fingers softly around his shoulder. His hand immediately takes hold and you feel those same lips that had consumed you last night press to your hand. 

 

“It was obviously important to you. Let me decide if -”

 

“It was a flower.”

 

“I regret putting a gun up and risking my life for something we could've grown in the back of the  _ fucking _ warehouse.”

 

He chuckles and looks at you over his shoulder, “A Belladonna lily...which, as I'm just thinking about, can translate in Italian as pretty woman.’ Perhaps that will be your new nickname. My belladonna.” He smiles, shaking his head and turning around, trying to wave away what it meant to him, “Regardless, it was the first flower my mother truly took care of with me. A ridiculous sentiment but...augh, think nothing of it.”

 

“That's...surprisingly sweet.”

 

He shifts a bit, “Please don't get soft on me. I have so enjoyed your rough demeanor.”

 

“Fine. That's fucking stupid.”

 

He grins, “Maybe tone it down.”

 

“Alright...that's...pretty decent of you.”

 

His arm curls under you once he turns, pulling your waist so that you're against him.  He smirks, chuckling, “About as convincing as you with the gun to his head.”

 

So he did know about you before. Knew you could never pull the trigger and yet it seemed your sudden adrenaline had stepped over your obvious lack of capability to take the shot.

 

“Well, shit. I saved your flower didn't I?”

  
He smirks with a concurring nod, letting out a soft chuckle as he moves to kiss your forehead, “My vulgar little belladonna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a tri- chapter drabble, be kind.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment sustain me. BT Dubs.


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